


Crossroads

by untouchable



Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: All Magic Comes With a Price, College/University, F/M, Memory Alteration, Modern Day, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-09-28 09:32:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17180423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/untouchable/pseuds/untouchable
Summary: Sarah Williams has forgotten about her time in the Underground, but it has not forgotten about her. There are consequences to Sarah’s triumph over the labyrinth, and years later, she and Jareth both pay the price.





	1. The Nightmare

**Author's Note:**

> Sarah would be a senior in college in like 1992, but I wasn’t even born then so let’s just say this is kind of a modern day AU.

Sarah Williams didn't believe in magic. She'd left all that behind long ago, memories faded and forgotten, that little red book sitting untouched in a box in the attic of her father's house. No faces appeared in her mirror, no owls fluttered outside her window, no dreams had plagued her sleeping hours in years; it was all a fantasy, she knew that now, a fantasy concocted by a lonely girl with too much imagination. She was in college now, and too old for such things; at twenty-one, Sarah was still a girl, but no longer able to be dazed or distracted by fairytales.

Still, staying in her childhood room over winter break was always strange, like sitting amongst ghosts. Toby was almost seven these days, ruddy cheeks and wild curls, running around the house like the little menace that he was. Truth be told, he was the only reason she came home at all; though the start of their relationship had been rocky to say the least, Sarah had grown immensely fond of her half-brother. Almost overnight, Sarah's stepmother liked to say to guests or relatives at the dinner table, and Sarah smiled politely as was expected, but she couldn't help but feel like she was missing something. Something important.

She decided to go back to Boston early, taking the train in on a grey winter morning two weeks before classes started. Her roommates were still gone for the holidays and so the apartment was empty, the radiator clanking loudly against the wall of her bedroom as Sarah let her suitcase fall to the carpeted floor with a thud. Someone was playing Christmas music in the apartment above hers despite the fact that it was January, Frank Sinatra's voice echoing through the building and lulling Sarah's eyes closed. Exhausted from traveling and from dealing with her father and stepmother over the break, Sarah climbed into bed, fully clothed, with even her jacket still on to ward off the chill.

Over the next few days, with nothing better to do, she checked her class list and rented her textbooks online. The university bookstore was a total rip off, and as much as Sarah loved books, she wasn't going to pay for overpriced ones that she'd probably never use again. This semester, being her last, meant there weren't any big, expensive textbooks she had to get (her freshman biology book had cost her over three hundred dollars by itself). Having gotten all the boring but necessary science and math out of the way, Sarah was now enjoying the "arts" part of her liberal arts education. For her final classes, Sarah had scheduled a handful of electives, her senior seminar to complete her English major, and an art history class to satisfy the graduation requirement. It was a cop-out, many believed, to have what was essentially a history course count towards the art credit, but for Sarah, who fully embraced her lack of talent in the visual arts, it was a relief to leave the painting and drawing to those better suited for it.

She ended up in Early Modern Art for two reasons. First of all, she wasn't at all interested in the Medieval period (something about all those castles and knights and kings made her stomach twist into knots), and contemporary art was too abstract, so she settled on the safe option. To seal the deal, Early Modern Art was only every Monday and Wednesday, two to four; giving her the morning free to sleep-in every other day. It was an introductory class with a new professor, but a freshman class meant freshman-level work, something that Sarah was looking forward too since she knew the reading for her senior sem was sure to be astronomical. An easy afternoon class was just what she needed.

Feeling optimistic, Sarah opened the box when it arrived on her doorstep, skimming the first chapter of the art history textbook the night before class, and, book tucked under her arm, marched to the front of the lecture hall on Monday afternoon. The younger students filtered into the back rows of seats, though, as space filled up, a few eager ones joined Sarah in the first row.

At exactly two o'clock, the side door opened next to the lecture podium and a man walked out. Out of almost a hundred of students, he met her gaze from across the room, and, for one moment, Sarah felt just as she had, once upon a time; trapped inside a beautiful dream, the music turned down low, a cast of dancers crowding her from all around, spinning and twirling and searching for something..someone...a glimpse of a man through the clamor. A man with strange eyes.

Something in her chest lurched. Oh _no_.

Feeling dizzy, Sarah gripped the edge of the desk as the professor gracefully turned away from the rows of students, writing his name across the chalkboard in elegant, looping cursive. Professor Alberich. He was younger than her past professors (probably early thirties), with light blond hair, clad in a crisp blue button-down shirt and grey wool trousers that fit him in such a way that it made her a little breathless. And then he was at the podium, introducing himself in a British accent, but Sarah didn't hear one word that he said. Afraid to look him in the eye, she stared at the delicate hollow of his throat, pale skin made even whiter by the harsh fluorescent lighting.

It wasn't like she was the only person staring. Some girls in the back were literally swooning, leaning over their desk in excitement as Professor Alberich began to hand out the syllabus and rattle off what was likely a practiced speech about mandatory class attendance. Probably unnecessary, given the fact that, well, he looked like that. Sarah was willing to bet that the blushing girl next to her in the front row would probably chew her own arm off to be able to get to this class.

Lost in thought, Sarah blinked back to reality as Alberich moved to place the bundle of papers on her desk. For some reason, she held her breath, searching his face for some flicker of recognition, but there was none. He seemed familiar to her somehow, but apparently the déjà vu only went one way; he only smiled at her politely and moved on to the next student without hesitation.

And his eyes were blue, just blue, identical. Not at all strange.

_Get yourself together, Sarah._

Shaking her head slightly to clear it, she chastened herself for acting so weird. Being hot and English, Alberich was probably used to guys and girls alike throwing themselves at him, but that didn't mean she needed to be another groupie. Leave that to the freshman. Just out of curiosity though, Sarah glanced at his hand while he made his way back to the podium. No wedding ring. Interesting.

He let them out after only an hour, and as a group of girls flocked down to introduce themselves, Sarah slipped through the door in the back of the lecture hall, walking out of the art history department building and into the biting winter air.

Her fem theory class was a blur. The teacher, a stern, curly-haired elderly woman with a thick Boston accent, rambled out a fully fledged lesson despite it being the first day. Thankfully, Sarah had already read enough Judith Butler to follow along even as her thoughts drifted. By the time she was headed out of the WGS hall, it was past sundown, snow flurries swirling in the darkening sky. A thin blanket of white coated the ground as she made her way from campus, down the little streets of the Back Bay to the tiny townhouse apartment she shared with two other girls.

Sarah had met April and Rebecca freshman year. They'd all lived on the same floor; Sarah and April in a double together and Rebecca in a single across the hall. Most of the others on the floor were all from Boston and knew of each other from high school, so Sarah, April, and Rebecca had bonded over being the loners in the bunch, each being so far from home, and also a mutual hatred of their nosy RA.

April was a Cali girl from Venice Beach, playing into the stereotype with the bleached hair and dark spray-tan and surfboard. She certainly looked the part of the ditzy blonde, and flashed an artificially-white smile to boys when it suited her, only to make their heads spin when she clued them in to the fact she was double majoring in computer science and engineering. She was sitting in the tiny kitchenette when Sarah came in, painting her toenails red with a chemistry textbook spread open on the table.

"Becca back?"

"Not yet, she's going to office hours or something."

Sarah unraveled her scarf and shrugged off her jacket. Tossing her backpack onto one of the wooden chairs, she went over to the coffee maker. "Already?"

"Can't blame her. Apparently this new professor, he's a hottie."

Sarah paused, staring at the assortment of mugs in the cabinet. She swallowed thickly. "Oh," she said carefully, casually, "what class does he teach?"

"I don't know. He's in the art history department. Some weird name, can't remember. He's English, I think?"

"Alberich?"

"Yeah! I think Becca said-hey, Sarah? Are you okay?"

Sarah forced a smile on her face and turned toward her friend. "Of course, yeah, I'm fine. Just a weird day."

April put the cap on her nail polish and gave Sarah a sympathetic look. "It's totally nuts, right, that this is our last semester? And then we have to go be adults or something. What a cruel, wonky world."

The smile on Sarah's face turned genuine, and a little sad. "I guess we all have to grow up sometime."

April shrugged, her blue eyes alight with mischief. "Maybe not yet though, huh? I got us invited to a frat party this Thursday, you down? Jack's apparently gonna be there with his band."

Jack was a music major who had been pursuing Sarah for a while now, and though they'd hooked up a few times since meeting sophomore year, she wasn't sure if she wanted his presence in her life to be a steady sort of thing. He did a lot of drugs which he justified as his songwriting process, and he lived in a shitty apartment in South Boston with some members of the theater club who Sarah found to be annoyingly dramatic, but, to be fair, he wasn't half as bad as the frat boys April was always around. Or the anarchist film students Rebecca dated. Still, it was complicated.

"Not really sure if I'm up for seeing Jack yet. He was texting me during break and I never responded, I gotta think of an excuse before I run into him."

April sighed, tossing her mane of hair over her shoulder. "You're always so fussy when it comes to guys. What're you holding out for?"

"Someone you can actually carry a tune, maybe," Sarah muttered, watching the steaming coffee spurt into her mug.

Giggling, April replied, "Fair enough. But just because his band blows doesn't mean that you can't blow him."

She wiggled her eyebrows and Sarah rolled her eyes, grabbing her bag before retreating to her bedroom.

Sarah's room was all the way at the end of the hallway, the smallest of the three on account of the fact that she paid the least amount of rent. Rebecca had the biggest one, the one located right off the kitchen with an attached bathroom, which was more than fair considering she was the only reason they could afford to live here. Rebecca came from old money in the South, from a family of wealthy landowners in Virginia who could trace their ancestry back to colonial America.

Despite its size and the old radiator that seemed to have a mind of its own, Sarah loved her room. It was just big enough to fit a double bed and be able to walk comfortably on both sides, with a modest closet to the right and a large window on the right, the walls colored an unusual blue-green color that was chipping in places with age. There was a plant stationed on the ledge of her window which, despite its tropical category, seemed to be surviving rather well in the Northeastern winter. As she entered her room with her coffee, she gave the little succulent an affectionate stroke on the way to her bed.

It was always colder in her room than in other parts of the apartment, so Sarah spent a lot of time in bed under the blankets. Curling up now with her warm mug in hand, she pulled her laptop onto her knees. She had half a mind to start on her fem theory reading, but Simone de Beauvoir would have to wait. Curiosity was getting the better of her, and she had this funny feeling in her gut, a name on the tip of her tongue, and memory wiggling in the back of her wind…

Almost without her permission, she clicked open a new browser and her fingers typed out a name. William Alberich. His university profile popped up first, stating that he was an associate professor specializing in art history of the Middles Ages and the Early Modern period. He had a BA and PhD from Oxford University. He'd written a book three years ago, and Sarah immediately put the title into Amazon. Representing the Enchanted World, it was called. Sarah skimmed the summary.

"An analysis of the fantastical and supernatural art of 1400-1800, tracing the visual languages of angels, demons, witches, monsters, and fairies.." she trailed off.

Hands shaking, she closed out of that tab and made another Google search. But besides his profile at her college and a page on the Oxford website that listed him as an alum and his book on Amazon, there was nothing; no social media, no newspaper articles mentioning his name, no traces of him that she could find. The only digital footprints were in recent years, nothing about him as a child or even young adult. It was like he had just appeared out of thin air about six years ago to go to Oxford.

Six years ago. She would have been fifteen then. Why did that seem significant?

Sarah shut her laptop, running a hand frantically through her hair. On the bedside table, her coffee was cold. Shivering and a bit nauseous, she stripped and chucked on her bathrobe, shuffling down the hall to get into the shower. She turned the knob all the way, waiting for the water to get hot enough to make her skin pink before jumping in. Closing her eyes, she let her forehead rest against the grimy white tiles, the spray from the shower hitting her on the back of the head and trickling down her neck to mix with the tears she was surprised to realize were coming from her eyes. God, what was wrong with her?

Shielded on both sides of her face with her long, dark hair, Sarah stared down at the drain, at the water flowing past her feet down into the dank depths. Everything about her day had seemed like a bad dream, and it was only the first day of classes! Totally not fair…

Rebecca was back and lounging on the couch by the time Sarah got out of the shower and threw on some flannel pajamas. Reddish-brown hair pulled up into a messy bun, the petite girl waved at Sarah as she got a water bottle from the fridge.

"Becca was telling me about the college's British Invasion," April said from her spot on the beanbag chair, flipping through channels on the TV.

"Can one person constitute an invasion?" Sarah mused, lingering in the kitchen doorway with her water bottle, wanting to go back and hide in her room but not wanting to seem rude.

"Well, he can invade me anytime," Rebecca announced with a grin, and April descending into laughter.

"I have to get a look at this guy! Sarah, aren't you dying to see him?"

"He, uh, actually teaches one of my classes."

Both girls looked at her.

"Really? You didn't mention that earlier," April frowned.

Rebecca started talking again, clearly too caught up in her crush to register Sarah's odd behavior, but April wasn't so blinded. As she slipped down back to her room, Sarah could feel her friend's eyes watching her go. She knew an interrogation was going to come later, but for now, Sarah shut her door and welcomed the silence. Her hair was still wet, so she put it into a braid before heading over to the bed. Sarah flipped the light switch off, bathing the room in moonlight as she passed the window. A flicker of movement caught her eye.

Squinting through the darkness, Sarah scanned the street below. There was a shape on the sidewalk, she noticed, a silhouette against the black night. A man, smoke curling out of his mouth. The streetlamp nearest him was dim, giving off a dull yellow glow, but the light was just enough to give her a brief impression of his face. Alberich. She couldn't be sure of course, because of the dark and the distance, but there were some things she just knew without knowing.

Still, there was nothing illegal about standing on the sidewalk and smoking. All the same, Sarah froze, and for a long moment that seemed like forever, they stared at each other. And then the man walked away, and just like that, he was gone.


	2. Wishes and Wanting

Tuesday morning went by without a hitch, and for that Sarah was grateful. After the nightmare of Monday, she did her best to forget about Professor Alberich and focus on, well, literally anything else. She had her first senior seminar early in the morning, settling into one of the desks set up in a semi-circle and feeling immediately at ease among the familiar faces of the other English majors and her beloved advisor. There were only ten students so introductions were quick (and unnecessary since they’d all been in the same program since declaring freshman year), and they spent the rest of the hour talking about what they’d done over winter break.

Sarah didn’t have class again until later, so she accompanied three of the girls to get coffee at the campus eatery. Boots crunching through the layers of icy snow, she tried to keep up with the conversation but her mind kept wandering elsewhere.

When someone yelled her name, Sarah looked up.

“Isn’t that Jack O’Conner?” one of the girls with her—Wendy—was saying.

It was indeed. Jack, clad in a green puffer jacket and a Red Sox hat, was surrounded by some of his friends, waving at her from the library steps.

“Do you wanna go say hi, Sarah?”

“No—I mean, let’s go inside. I’ll text him later.”

“Playing hard to get? I approve,” Wendy nodded once before the four of them ducked into the cafe.

Out of all the dining locations on campus, this was by far the nicest (and the most expensive). The room was all dark wood paneling and comfy leather sofas, students spread out on the tables by the large floor-to-ceiling windows with laptops and textbooks, a group of snow-covered boys huddled by the fireplace. Sarah and her group passed through the mid-morning rush of students to get to the other room where three different kitchen stations gave the following options: the usual cafe selections of coffee and pastries, salad, or the meal of the day.

Along the wall, cases of cold drinks offered an alternative to hot beverages, so while the other girls got in line for coffee Sarah went over to explore the smoothie options. After all, she’d already had one coffee today, and smoothies were definitely the healthier—

“Pardon me,” came a male voice, a second before a hand appeared to reach past her face toward the mango smoothie she’d been eyeing.

Sarah faltered, her quick intake of breath startling even herself. Her skin buzzed from the proximity, and she knew, knew the same way that she’d known last night, that it was him.

“Miss Williams, isn’t it?”

She swallowed, taking a moment to get a grip before plastering a smile on her face and turning to greet Professor Alberich.

He had a cup of soup in his hand, leather briefcase hanging from his shoulder. His cheeks were pink from the cold, hair untamed from the wind. He looked less put-together than yesterday, more wild. His teeth looked sharp when he smiled.

“Yes, that’s right. Good morning, Professor,” Sarah responded, trying to keep her voice even.

 _Why the hell were you outside my apartment last night_ , she wanted to say. _What’s going on? Why do I feel like I know you?_

They were close, close enough to touch, and Sarah had to resist the urge to stretch her hand out and—

“You ready?” Wendy appeared with the two other girls, and Sarah jolted out of the spell.

She nodded, looking back at Alberich. He gave her a polite good-bye, before going to the checkout counter. Sarah watched him go, aware she was staring but unable to help herself. There was just something…

_No. Stop acting like a lovesick teenager. Don’t get a crush on your professor, idiot._

She had suspicions that Alberich wasn’t who he said he was, that he was hiding something, but it really wasn't any of her business. He’d never been anything but nice to her, perfectly professional; clearly, the weirdness between them, the charged tension that made goosebumps rise on the back of her neck, was all in her head and a product of the attraction she couldn’t help but feel.

_God, I really need to get laid._

Clenching her jaw, Sarah turned to her friends, determined not to let Professor Alberich get under her skin. 

* * *

 

She was going to have to drop his class. It was really the only solution Sarah could think of after her art history lecture on Wednesday afternoon. She’d spent the whole two hours daydreaming, lulled into a haze by his beautiful voice, so distracted that she hadn’t even remembered to take notes on the lecture. Henry Fuseli’s The Nightmare had been projected up on the board, a painting where a young woman lay stretched out in a troubled sleep while a creature squatted on her chest. It was apparently an incubus, but to Sarah it looked more like a goblin.

By Thursday night, she’d made her decision. It hadn’t been easy to come to a conclusion; Sarah wasn’t one to back down from an uncomfortable situation, but with graduation looming and a senior thesis to write, she couldn’t afford to feel off-kilter every Monday and Wednesday. After the weekend was over, she would march into the Registrar’s office and switch to another art history class, and that would be that.

For now though, she had other things to worry about. Namely, not sliding on a patch of ice in the pair of heeled boots April had convinced her to wear. Sarah wasn’t really in the mood to go out, but she’d already agreed, and April and Rebecca were so excited to have some fun that it was beginning to rub off on her. So she’d put on a cute blouse, dark skinny jeans, did her makeup and twisted her hair up into a bun on the top of her head before following her roommates out the door.

Not wanting to pay for a cab, the three of them made it to the fraternity house after a brisk walk from their apartment. Inside, Christmas lights colored the dimness of the entryway in a rainbow, giving just enough to see as the girls took off their heavy coats. The pledge who’d let them in told April that Adam, the frat brother she was sleeping with, was in the basement. Blowing him a kiss, April lead the way down the stairs into the darkness.

Overwhelmed by the stench of smoke and sweat coming from the mass of bodies dancing, and the pop music blaring through the speakers, Sarah parted ways with her friends, coming up with an excuse that she’d get drinks. Passing the tables of beer pong, she edged along the outskirts of the party toward the bar in the corner. The floor was sticky with beer, the walls painted black, giving the overall feeling of being in a cave. It was suffocating.

Pushing through a group of girls in bodycon dresses to reach her destination, Sarah breathed a sigh of relief, bracing her arms on the edge of the bar. A moment later, her reprieve was shattered as Jack plopped himself down on the stool beside her.

“Long time no talk, eh?” Jack shouted over the music as he gave her a goofy, lopsided smile that most people found utterly endearing.

Sarah made eye-contact with the guy serving beer and was very grateful when he poured her a cup.

“Yeah,” she responded to Jack. “How’ve you been?”

“Good, good. What about you?”

“Alright. You know.”

His smile turned a little sharper. “Actually, I don’t. You haven’t been returning my messages.”

Sarah bought time by taking a sip of beer. It was the cheap stuff, meaning it was totally gross, but it gave her a second to think.

“I know, and I’m sorry about that. My family is...a lot to deal with, especially during the holidays, and plus I was researching project ideas for my senior sem all break. A month seems like such a long time but then it's gone in an instant,” she explained, hating herself a little bit for even having to fabricate a story.

It wasn't really lying, all of it was true actually, but even with all that going on she had plenty of time over winter break to shoot Jack a few texts if she’d wanted to. But she hadn’t. She still didn’t. What was wrong with her? April’s words echoed in her head— _What’re you holding out for?_

“My band’s performing later,” Jack was saying.

She forced a smile. “Can’t wait!”

“Wanna dance until then?”

And so they did, Jack leading Sarah onto the dancefloor among the gyrating party-goers. She closed her eyes as Jack held her close, letting the rhythm of the music loosen the tension in her shoulders, hips moving to the beat

Much later and much drunker, they stumbled into her apartment. Kicking the door to her bedroom shut, Jack tugged off his shirt and Sarah followed suit. Her jeans were a bit trickier; getting tangled, she fell onto her bed sideways. Eventually, she pulled them off, yanked her underwear down, and then she was naked. Jack was too, crawling up the bed to hover over her, his erection pressed into her hip bone.

Suddenly, staring up at him, everything was all wrong. Head spinning, Sarah put an arm on his shoulder as Jack moved to spread her legs apart.

“I—I don’t think—this isn’t a good idea. I don’t want…”

_I don’t want you._

But then he looked at her, hurt and confusion evident all over his face, and Sarah felt like such a fool. Jack had his flaws, but he was a decent guy; better than half the dudebros on campus. Why couldn’t she like him? Why couldn’t everything be easy?

“We can stop if you want. But, Sarah, you should know that this has never just been about sex for me and—”

Wanting to prove something to herself, Sarah kissed him, hard. There was no spark, no fireworks, but it was nice. Normal. It was what she needed, she told herself firmly. So she let Jack make love to her, and tried not to think about anything else, about the way Alberich’s pale slender fingers had looked in front of her face in the cafe, how they might look against the skin of her thigh, about the way he said her name during roll call in class, about the fact that he’d been outside her window only a few days prior. Was he outside her window now? Was he waiting for her, watching for her? Wanting her?

The thought made her stomach flip, made her breathless, and then she was coming apart, muttering senseless words and a name, over and over— _Jareth_. The word passed her lips and a bolt of lightning sparked down her spine. As her orgasm faded, so did the name, but even though it wanted to flit away like wisps of smoke, Sarah held on. Jareth. Where had had that come from? Where had she heard that name?

Either it was similar enough that he hadn't caught her slip, or he hadn’t heard her whispering at all, for Jack didn’t say anything about it. He rolled off her, disposed of the condom, and promptly fell asleep on the other side of the bed. Sarah wrapped the comforter around her body but stayed awake, unable to sleep after the strange experience.

“Jareth,” she murmured softly, “where are you? I wish—”

Jack’s snoring cut her off, and Sarah sighed, shutting her eyes, finishing the wish in her head.

_I wish you were here. Whoever you are._


	3. Dark Horizon

Sarah woke up late on Monday, having just enough time to shower and throw on a random outfit before going to meet her advisor for lunch. She was already in a corner table in the dining hall when Sarah arrived, vibrant red hair making her immediately visible from across the room. As Sarah sat down, Professor Morrison shoved a piece of paper into her novel as a bookmark and gave her a bright smile.

“Sorry I’m late,” she rushed out, noticing that Morrison’s sandwich was already half-gone. “Haven’t been sleeping well,” Sarah added, not wanting her favorite professor to think she was out partying on a Sunday, though her yawn and the dark circles under her eyes probably conveyed the message well enough on their own.

“The spring semester always hits me the hardest,” Professor Morrison nodded in sympathy. “Have you been settling in alright?”

“I guess. I’ve just been feeling... _off_ lately.”

“Anything I can help with?”

Sarah bit her bottom lip, picking at her thumbnail. Someone in the table next to theirs let out a burst of laughter, and she cringed at the sudden noise.

“I think I’m going to drop a class today, which’ll help.”

“What one?”

“Intro to Early Modern Art. And I know I need it to graduate, but I’ll just see if there’s an opening in another art history class or—”

Her advisor frowned. “Doesn’t Alberich teach that class?”

Sarah tried not to let the name spook her. “Maybe. Why?”

“Well, I thought you were doing well in the class. He even asked about you at an interdepartmental meeting the other day.”

Sarah felt like a bucket of ice water had been thrown over her head. “Professor Alberich asked about _me_?”

Her face must have been giving her away because her advisor looked even more concerned. Before Morrison could inquire further, Sarah quickly changed the subject, going into great detail about her ideas for her senior sem project in order to distract the professor. Meanwhile, all she could think about was Alberich, which was becoming a bad habit. Over the weekend, especially after the weirdness of Thursday night, she just couldn’t get him out of her head. It was infuriating.

On the way to his class, Sarah entertained the idea of confronting him. But what, exactly, had he done wrong? Nothing really, as far as she could tell. Him being under her window last week could have been a coincidence, or not him at all (there were probably other hot, blond, British guys in Boston, right?). And what else could she accuse him of? Picking the smoothie that she wanted in the cafe? Talking about her to a colleague wasn’t criminal, but what exactly had he wanted to know? It was probably an innocent question about the only senior in a class of freshman. Or maybe Morrison had mentioned her name, and Professor Alberich had just asked about her to make idle conversation. So many possibilities, but none of them seemed right.

Still, her suspicions were all very circumstantial, able to be easily explained away, but the knot remained in her stomach as Sarah entered the lecture hall.

Alberich was already down front writing something on the chalkboard, and Sarah had to fight the urge to bolt out the door. Furthermore, once she’d squashed that, she shoved away the desire to hide in the back of the classroom. Straightening her spine with more confidence than she felt, Sarah calmly walked to the first row and took the same seat she’d been sitting in the past two classes. After all, Sarah Williams was no coward.

_You have no power over me._

She blinked, and the phrase evaporated from her head.

“Miss Williams, may I speak with you after class?”

Sarah looked up so fast that her neck ached. Alberich was standing in front of her desk, hands white with chalk, blue eyes searching her face.

She cleared her throat. “Of course, Professor.”

He nodded, moving away to stand at the teaching podium, and Sarah released the breath she was holding. Ignoring the look of jealousy the girl next to her was giving off, she took out her notebook and the reading assignment, doing her best to keep her head down.

What on Earth could Alberich want to talk to her about?

The question plagued her for the duration of the entire class. She paid more attention to his lecture than in the past, raising her hand and answering questions when he called on her, even feeling something giddy bubble in her chest when he said she’d done well in understanding the reading, but all the while she pondered his motivations for wanting to speak with her. Did he know, somehow, that she’d been obsessing over him for the past week? It wasn’t like she was the only one. Rebecca, who was in another of his classes, wouldn’t shut up about the new professor. He couldn’t really call her out for having a crush, not when the entire school’s female population (plus some of the boys) was equally guilty.

Buzzing with anticipation, Sarah took a deep breath as the class came to a close and everyone started packing their bags. Shoving her notebook away, she lingered in her seat until most of the students had trickled out, then stood up and shouldered her backpack. Alberich was waiting, papers cradled in one arm, for her by the door. The last to leave, he flipped the light switch and the classroom went dark as he followed Sarah into the hallway.

“Is your office...” she trailed off nervously.

“Right this way,” Alberich told her and led the way to the third floor.

His office was small, not surprising since he was new and didn’t have tenure, but he had a nice view of the grassy field that marked the middle of campus. In the hotter months, it was always full of kids playing frisbee or sunbathing or generally just avoiding homework. In winter, it was a plane of white snow, interrupted by several zig-zagging lines of footprints and a poor attempt at a snowman.

“Is Miss Williams, alright?” Professor Alberich was saying as he placed his things on his desk, the untidy pile of papers looking out of place against the neatness of the office. “Or would you prefer I call you Sarah?”

“Does it matter?”

His mouth twitched. “Of course it does. Names have power.”

Unsure of how to respond, Sarah shifted. Should she sit down, or was this a quick conversation?

“Just Sarah is fine.”

Some of the many loose papers on his desk were a stack of posters for the theater club’s rendition of Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream. As he sat in his chair, Sarah pointed at it.

“Are you going?”

“I’m not sure. The faculty is supposed to put up posters, but I haven’t gotten around to it, as you can see.”

Her mouth opened, and before she knew what she was saying, Sarah stupidly responded, “What? Don’t you like fairies?”

Alberich smiled, a brilliant, wide grin like he was beyond amused. But there was something else there too, something wicked, _sharp_ , that did unspeakable things to her insides. The energy in the room had quickly changed, so fast that Sarah’s head was spinning.

“Don’t you?”

The question unsteadied her so much that it made her a little angry. What was he playing at? A part of her wanted to demand him to just spit out whatever he wanted to tell her, but instead, Sarah found herself saying, “Why were you outside my apartment last week?”

Alberich blinked. He, clearly, had not been expecting that.

“Come again?”

Chickening out and utterly unnerved by the whole situation thus far, Sarah began to back out of the room. “Sorry, uh, nevermind—I should go...”

“Sarah, wait. Please.”

There was something desperate in his voice, and it made her pause. He was pleading, half-rising out of his chair as if to physically stop her from leaving.

Sarah inhaled through her nose and then made up her mind, moving swiftly to sit in the available chair across from him. The door was open, it wasn’t like he could really do anything that crossed professional boundaries. The large wooden desk kept them a few feet apart, but it seemed like nothing for the way he was looking at her. Like she was someone special, _precious_. No one had ever looked at her like that.

“What do you want with me?”

Alberich swallowed, looking genuinely troubled and frustrated. “I don’t...I don’t know. Forgive me if I’m frightening you, or being inappropriate, but there’s just—I feel like I’ve known you, Sarah, and lost you already. In another life, perhaps. It’s mad, I know, but I need to see if you...remember anything. Is it possible that we’ve met before?”

Sarah dragged a hand through her rumbled hair. Her heart was thumping so bad she was sure it was going to burst out of her chest. Well, she thought, might as well lay all her cards on the table.

“Do you know anyone named Jareth?”

Alberich looked as if she’d just punched him in the throat.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, visibly thrown. Sarah was vehemently glad that she wasn’t the only one.

Before either of them could speak again, a shadow appeared behind her, and Sarah twisted her neck to see that another professor was standing in the doorway.

“Faculty meeting in five,” the woman told Alberich, who nodded politely, though his jaw was still clenched.

Sarah jumped up and grabbed her bag, giving into the compulsion to flee. “I better get going then. Thanks, Professor.”

“Sarah…,” Alberich spoke up, but really, what was he going to say with the other professor lingering there?

Taking advantage of the interruption, too afraid to meet his intense blue gaze, Sarah put her head down and left.

* * *

 

Over the next two weeks, Sarah’s life settled into a routine of relative normalcy. Alberich didn’t approach her again, and he treated her in class no differently than before, but there were times when she felt his gaze on her, long and lingering, and she was reminded of their hasty encounter. _I feel like I’ve known you, Sarah, and lost you already._ The whole thing would have been totally spooky if she didn’t feel the exact same way about him.

But she had to ignore all that, for the sake of her sanity if nothing else. So she hung out with her friends, went on dates with Jack, did her reading and her homework, submitted her assignments and the outline for her senior sem project, and made a show of being a normal college girl. The dreams, however, were not so easily ignored. They started out differently, in her childhood bedroom, in a junkyard, in a forest—but they always ended the same; her running down stairs, through shadowy archways and dark corridors, being chased (or maybe chasing?) a faceless man with strange eyes and wild blond hair.

God, she was delusional. But something about all this felt so good to her, like stretching her legs after a long car ride, like remembering something important that was almost forgotten. But what did it all mean? None of the puzzle pieces fit together in her head; it was maddening. And what did her professor have to do with any of it? Were they star-crossed lovers from another life, reincarnated to find each other again? Was he the thing she’d been missing all her life?

No use romanticizing, Sarah chastised herself before she could go any further down that rabbit hole. Odds were they were just two regular adults who were attracted to each other and trying to find excuses to explain the feelings away in light of their respective student-teacher positions. Yes, that was all. That’s what Sarah told herself, and after two weeks, it was a little easier to believe.

She was actually grateful for the distraction when, on the first weekend of February, her parents and little brother visited. It was unexpected, as was the horde of boxes on the sidewalk outside her apartment building, but Sarah was not surprised to learn that it was her step-mother’s doing. They were moving, Irene explained, to a bigger house with a better yard in a better school system in a better town. And look! We brought your things, how generous of us!

“But what was wrong with the old house? And why can’t you just keep my stuff when you move?” Sarah grumbled, lifting one of the large brown boxes into her arms.

“Sarah,” Irene scolded, one hand placed haughtily on her hip. “Your father and I are not running a storage facility.”

Unwilling to argue, Sarah chewed the inside of her cheek and helped her father transport the load up to the apartment and into her bedroom. Her parents went to lock the car, leaving Toby with Sarah as she attempted to stack the boxes against the wall. Her room was already small without more clutter, and she probably wouldn’t have time to go through her old things until midterms were—

Frowning at the faint whispering, Sarah turned to look at Toby, who was half-way under her bed.

“Who are you talking to, buddy?” she said, crouching down beside his legs.

Had that cat from the first floor escaped again?

“My friends,” Toby giggled, wiggling out to give her a dimpled grin.

Sarah ducked down to check for the neighbor's cat but saw nothing.

“There’s nobody there, Toby.”

“You’re just not looking hard enough. They’re always there, you just have to look,” he protested, shooing her away like she was the child instead of him.

Her frown deepened, but she left him to his game. Sarah supposed that having imaginary friends was normal for a kid his age, but it made her anxious for a reason that she couldn’t place. With one last look at Toby as he crawled back under her bed, Sarah moved to the desk to grab a pair of scissors. As she was cutting the tape from one of the boxes, she could have swore than she saw out of the corner of her eye several dark shapes dart across the room, but she told herself it was just a trick of the light. Toby only laughed in delight.

It was Irene’s idea to go to lunch, and since she was on a college budget, Sarah jumped at the chance to have her parents pay for a meal. The price, apparently, was that they wanted her friends to come along, but since April and Rebecca were both at student council meetings for the remainder of the afternoon, Sarah was forced to send Jack a text with instructions to meet them on at her favorite bakery. Even though it was past two, it was a Saturday, and Sarah was half-hoping that Jack was still asleep, a hope that died as he entered the little restaurant and made a beeline for their table.

Almost bumping into a server as he pulled out a chair, Jack yanked off his coat and Red Sox hat before pressing his cold lips to Sarah’s cheek. The smile she gave him was weak, but nobody noticed. Glad to have someone to interrogate about her stepdaughter's life, Irene sat at the edge of her chair, aimed her gun, and shot question after question in Jack’s direction. His shaggy brown hair was in disarray, shirt rumpled, and Sarah was sure he’d just rolled out of bed, but to his credit, he handled her step-mother’s attack with ease.

Sarah tuned out of the conversation, picked at her pastry as she watched Toby scrawl over the tablecloth with a blue crayon. She’d noticed back at the apartment that the moment her father and step-mother had returned, he’d immediately stopped talking to his imaginary friends. She wanted to ask him about it, but part of her was scared of what he’d tell her. When Toby looked up, she wondered if she’d been thinking aloud, but instead of at her, the little boy glanced over to the counter where takeout orders were picked up. His face lit up like Christmas and his birthday had all arrived at once, and before anyone knew what he was up to, Toby leaped out of his chair and ran across the bakery.

Her father stood up to go after him, but there was no need; it had looked like Toby was going to bolt straight out of the restaurant, but the little guy was only by the counter, latched onto the leg of…

For one full moment, Sarah thought she might faint, or do something equally embarrassing. Feeling like she was in a dream, she watched Professor Alberich bend over and greet Toby, whose grubby hands were pulling on the arm of the professor’s tweed jacket. Sarah, more than a little disturbed, watched Toby whisper something in Alberich’s ear. Alberich looked shocked, like Toby had told him a critical but surprising piece of information.

“Toby, leave that poor man alone,” her father gruffly demanded, giving out apologies as he tried to pry the little boy away.

Alberich chuckled, a beautiful and musical kind of laugh that made Sarah shiver, as he picked up his takeout bag from the counter with one leather gloved hand. Over the crowd and across the restaurant, he met Sarah’s stare. She thought, maybe, for a second that his eyes looked different. But that was impossible.

With a pat of Toby’s head and a quick little smirk, like the two of them shared a joke that the whole world was ignorant of, Alberich left the bakery. Sarah didn’t even realize she was holding her breath until Jack nudged her, asking what was wrong.

“Just worried about Toby,” she choked out, taking a sip of her tea, wincing as the hot liquid burned down her throat.

When they’d wrangled Toby back into his seat at the table, Sarah watched as he picked up his crayon and set back to work scribbling odd little creatures between shoving pieces of pancake in his mouth.

“What did you ask him?”

Toby licked his lips, glancing at his parents, who were once again chatting to Jack about his band (or something).

“To sing. King loves to sing,” Toby explained like it was the simplest thing in the world and she was stupid for even having to ask.

That night, she heard scratching under her bed, squeaks and giggling coming from the closet, lumps moving under her blankets, claws tickling her toes, and Sarah, not for the first time, wondered if she was truly going crazy.


	4. Metamorphosis

By Valentine’s Day, Sarah couldn’t deny it any longer.

When she got out of the shower that evening, there was a little grey goblin sitting on the edge of the sink and eating her toothpaste—so  _ that’s _ why she kept having to replace it every other week! Since Toby had left, she’d been seeing them out of the corner of her eye every so often, licking crumbs off the table or stealing her left sock or tangling her headphones in her pocket; doing all the things they’d been doing before, but she’d been too ignorant to notice then. Denial was not an option anymore, apparently. 

When the goblin crouched over her sink noticed her staring, the creature gave her a delighted grin, rows and rows of tiny fangs on display.

“Yous sees me now, Sawah?”

She pulled on her bathrobe, wrapped her long wet hair in a towel, and stared the beast down. Part of her wanted to scream and get her landlord to call pest control but knew that wouldn’t do any good. Keeping her cool, Sarah put her hands on her hips, doing her best to look threatening. 

“Yes, but how?”

“Things changin’, missy. Magic be comin’ back!”

Toby’s imaginary friends being not-so-imagery was one thing...but magic? She gulped.

“Well, where’d it go in the first place?”

The goblin huffed out an annoyed sigh, squirting some toothpaste on his foot and licking it off. One of his ears had a chunk missing out of it like he, or another of his kind, had nibbled on it. 

“Kingy took it with ‘im. He naughty, that’s what they is sayin’, now he not king anymore. He different. All gone, poof!”

She was on the brink of it now, memories surfacing, but something held her back from the truth. Face screwed up in concentration, Sarah fought for it, for the answers she knew were there, but they were just out of her reach.  

Taking a step toward the sink, Sarah heard the frenzied pitch to her voice as she demanded, “ _ Who _ ? Who’s gone?”

The little goblin had been sniffing the bar of soap by the facet, but he turned to blink at her with yellow eyes. “Oh,” he said, “yous different, too?”

“What — ”

The bathroom door opened and the goblin scampered out of sight. 

“Hey, Sarah, you almost finished?” April peeked her head around the corner.

Nodding jerkily, and with one last glance at the empty bathroom, Sarah went back to her room to get ready for the night. 

Originally, it had been a group of them going to a bar to celebrate Valentine's Day, but after a few suspicious last-minute cancellations, Jack had Sarah all to himself. Part of her desperately wanted to ditch him in favor of tagging along to a party with April and Rebecca, but after blowing her persistent suitor off for a while now, Sarah couldn’t come up with a polite excuse to bow out of the evening. Even when all she really wanted to do was hide in bed with the covers over her head and pretend that her world wasn’t spinning out of control.

As she dressed, the goblins stayed away, and Sarah didn’t blame them. There was something brewing in the air, a spark, electricity racing across her skin and raising goosebumps on the back of her neck. A storm coming in on the horizon, maybe? But no, though the sky seemed dark and menacing, there were no clouds among that vast black plane. No stars either, as if even they were bracing themselves for whatever was coming — and something, Sarah was certain, was indeed coming. 

She tried to put these ominous thoughts out of her head, but her shoulders were tense, and a knot of unease was forming in her stomach as Sarah exited the apartment. She was wearing an emerald colored dress that brought out the green in her eyes, the fabric cinching at the waist to highlight her slim figure, yet the neckline was modest enough that she felt comfortable leaving her jacket unbuttoned as she jumped into a cab. Twisting her fingers in her lap, Sarah tucked her dark hair behind her ears and leaned her head back against the seat, trying to calm the frantic beating in her chest.

The cab jerked to a stop outside the sports bar. It was a decidedly unromantic place for a Valentine's Day date, and for that Sarah was grateful. She knew now that this thing with Jack had to be called off—her heart wasn’t in it, and that wasn’t fair to either of them. No matter what her friends said, no matter the disapproving look Irene would inevitable give at the next family gathering, no matter the little voice in the back of Sarah’s mind that told her she’d forever be alone—Sarah was too brave, and too stubborn, to give in to all that. 

She pushed the glass door open, entering the crowded establishment. Large flat-screen TV’s took up most of the wall space, with sports paraphernalia (Celtics jerseys and Bruins equipment and signed Red Sox posters) littered all over. In the back, a chair from Fenway stood propped up for display. Eyes scanning the rowdy bunch of single guys at the bar, she locked onto Jack at a table near the bathroom. Taking a deep breath, chin held high, Sarah went over and sat down. She knew it was a shitty thing to do, breaking up (were they even dating?) with someone on this particular holiday, but it seemed even worse to keep this charade up for a moment longer. She couldn’t do it anymore, pretending everything was okay when it wasn’t. No more pretending. 

“I ordered you a drink!” Jack said as she settled onto the tall chair, giving her one of those goofy grins.

She thanked him, took a long sip to fill the silence, then gave him a look that clearly said: “we need to talk”. Seeing the intent on her face, Jack rushed to speak before Sarah could even open her mouth.

“I know this is weird, right, everyone else bailing?”

She made a noise of agreement. “I had no idea that so many people scheduled dentist appointments on a national holiday.”

Jack cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Right. Well, actually, you see, I might have—”

“Jack,” she interrupted him, sighing. She forced the rest of her drink down before continuing. “I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”

Jack frowned, stared down at his beer instead of at her. Overhead, a ball game was playing on the TV.

“Is there...is there someone else?”

Sarah swallowed, fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. “No,” she lied. 

Jack threw his hands into the air in aggravation. “Then what’s the problem? We’re hanging out, it’s not a big deal, Sarah!”

“Jack…”

“No, no, you don’t get to fuck me and then act like we’re  _ nothing _ !” he spat, leaning towards her meaningfully. 

She recoiled at the strong scent of alcohol on his breath.  _ Seems like he started without me _ .

Standing up, and grabbing her purse, Sarah responded, “Look, I wanted to do this in person, but I don’t want to fight so...”

“Neither do I! I just want to talk, shit, Sarah, you can’t just—”

But she didn’t hear the rest of his sentence, for she was weaving her way through the bar’s tipsy patrons to get outside. She wasn’t making a lot of progress, for though she’d only had a few sips of her drink, Jack had ordered her one of those fruity concoctions that always got her drunk quickly. The sickly sweet taste lingered on her tongue, making her feel a little dizzy. Throwing her body against the glass door of the bar, she burst into the chilly night air, breathing in fresh lungfuls to clear her addled head. 

Boots sinking into the muddy slush on the sidewalk, Sarah turned her face toward the sky. It was snowing slightly, fluffy flakes careening through the air, tingling on her cheeks and coating her eyelashes. The horizon had been clear only thirty minutes prior, but now there were heavy grey clouds lingering over Boston. A storm was definitely coming. She shivered.

Before she could make a move to get another cab, Jack staggered out of the bar’s door. As she turned, Sarah saw him lurch toward her, brown eyes squinted with rage as a cold hand clamped around her wrist.

"You bitch—!"

Suddenly, she was so utterly and completely furious. The nerve of him to manhandle her! And yet she’d been so complacent and passive in their relationship, of course Jack was shocked by the current twist and thought he could treat her like this. What had gotten into her? She wasn’t one to let a man push her around, manipulate or use her, even if Jack did have good intentions (the jury was still out on that, however). 

Fueled with defiance, she ripped her arm out of his grip. Sarah Williams bowed to no one. Not even kings. 

She was done being confused and uncertain, playing the damsel in distress. She was a champion, somehow, somewhere—that goblin was wrong, she was still the same girl. Sarah wanted answers. And she wanted them now.

The sky boomed, unnatural thunder rumbling among the darkness, and just like that, as quickly as Persephone being whisked into the Underworld, Sarah vanished. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this chapter is a little short, i've had trouble with it. thanks for the kind reviews!


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